Chapter 16
It was, I suppose, only a matter of time before it happened. Never in a million years would Jennifer have left Vesna alone with Dean, after she'd heard from Marcia how she had driven Connor crazy when they had had a threesome, and how she had lost control when Connor was pounding her with his cock. But when someone (make that two people, in this case) is very determined to make something happen, then a way can always be found. Thus, it had come about that Vesna was babysitting two-year-old Dutton, while Jennifer was in Colorado visiting her father, who was sick, and while Dean was meant to be in Seattle. He had flown there a couple of days after Jennifer left and was scheduled to arrive back in town the day after she came back, but when he learned that Vesna would be staying the night he rearranged his meetings and his flights so that he could keep her company.
Not wanting to surprise her, he had actually rung the doorbell to his own house. When Vesna answered the door, she didn't seem either surprised or upset, which was enough to send Dean upstairs with a spring in his step and a song in his heart to take a shower and change into something more comfortable. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that that was exactly what the babysitter was busy doing too. When he got downstairs, she was nowhere to be seen. Going back upstairs, he checked first Dutton's room, then the guest room she used when she stayed over, but could find no trace of her. It was only when he ventured further down the corridor that he saw that the bathroom door was closed. Putting his ear against the door, he could make out the sound of someone taking a shower. That someone could only be Vesna.
He went downstairs again and mixed himself a cocktail, making enough for Vesna too once she joined him. He took a seat in his armchair in the living room and watched the TV news while he waited for her, reckoning that keeping the atmosphere as normal as possible would be the best way to set the scene for what he hoped would be a night to remember.
Judging from the turn it had just taken, Dean knew he had nothing to worry about. Vesna (sweatshirt and jeans just a half hour ago) had transformed herself into a - what exactly? Dean wondered - princess, maybe, or a film star. She was wearing a strapless printed tight-fitting dress with a straight neckline and black heels (perhaps three inches in height). Dean had never seen her looking so feminine or so darned attractive. The dress looked like an artist's palette, where someone had mixed the colours around a bit: light blue, dark orange and black predominated. It was a damn fine dress, was all that Dean cared. As for the heels, he'd only seen her in dirty sneakers or ugly boots before, so those alone were enough to get him as hard as he had been the evening before in his hotel room, when he had masturbated to images of her twice before going to sleep.
"To think she's gone to all this effort just for me," he reflected.
Vesna, in turn, had never seen Dean looking more handsome in a tailored blue and white checked short-sleeved shirt and a pair of ivory chinos. He hadn't bothered with footwear, which was absolutely fine by her.
"Ah, Vesna," he said, as she sat down on the couch opposite him. "Dutton well?"
"He had a bit of a sniffle, but nothing serious," she replied. "Got him off to sleep eventually."
"Sounds like you need a drink," he said, getting up and going over to the table where her glass stood waiting to be filled.
"Here, try this."
"Thanks," she said. "Mm, very good. Your secret recipe?"
"Absolutely. Passed down by five generations of Regans. Originally developed by a forefather in County Sligo."
"Made from potatoes, is it?" quipped Vesna, drawing a laugh as well as a murmur of admiration from Dean for her cultural knowledge, however much it might owe to stereotypes.
"Beautiful dress you're wearing," Dean added, putting a record on the Nakamichi turntable.
"Thank you," the babysitter replied. "I only got it a week or so ago."
Dean wanted to ask if she had bought it for him, but things were going so well he didn't want to ruin them by coming across as an asshole.
"Suits you very well - the colours and everything."
He was bursting to say something about the shoes, but had to content himself with just staring at them. Vesna caught him doing so and started laughing. Dean thought it was a very nice laugh, even when it was being directed at him.
"Yeah, they're new too," she volunteered. "Not like the stuff I normally wear."
"They're really beautiful, Vesna. But then so are you."
There, Dean had said it.
"You really think so?" the Croat added.
Dean couldn't tell whether she was really unsure of herself or whether she was just fishing for compliments.
"Well, yes, in a word," said Dean.
"I mean I'll never be a beauty like Jennifer," she went on.
Dean had been wondering how long it would be before she mentioned his wife, but it didn't faze him in the slightest.
"Says who?" he said, getting up from his chair and sitting on the couch next to her.
"I don't know. It's obvious. Only a blind man wouldn't be able to see it."
"I'm not blind and I can't see it."
And with that he made a move into her, taking his drink out of her hand and placing it on the little table by the end of the couch. He could smell the scent she was wearing. This was another first on what was turning out to be a night of firsts. He put his hand on her face and turned it towards him. She seemed nervous. Genuinely nervous. He was surprised, and also quite touched. Had she been thinking about this moment from the day she started working for them? Had she heard Marcia talk about him (probably negatively) and begun wondering what it would be like to be with such a dangerous man?
Now that she was looking at him, he dropped his hand from her face to the hand that had been holding her glass, which was now just above her knee. He pressed it gently, and sensed her relax. He couldn't believe his luck. He thought their coupling would be aggressive and quick ("Wham! Bang? Thank you, ma'am!") but it was turning out to be anything but. She clearly wanted him to woo her. By a marvellous piece of serendipity, that was exactly what he wanted to do himself. His initial plan (pull down the neckline of her dress, kiss her tits, remove her dress, and fuck her) had been binned. They had all night, and he was going to use it all, if that was what brought them both the greatest pleasure.
"I have a confession to make," said Vesna, as he sat there beside her holding her hand as if they were on their first date, which in a way they were.
"When I was upstairs with your wife and Marcia, I saw your photo on the nightstand, and after that I couldn't get you out of my mind. When your wife was fucking me with a strap-on, it was you I was thinking about. When I came, it was because you had unloaded yourself inside me. There, I have told you my secret. Do you have any confession you need to make to me?"
